Homefall: Book Four of the Last Legion Series (6 page)

“This is Grimaldi Control,” a woman said. “Link to Channel five-five-four-point-eight-seven … you are cleared to land. You will descend vertically from present position, then take course Nan Eleven, as indicated on your Standard Instrument Screen for approximately twenty-two, that is two-two, kilometers. We have clear weather, so you should have visual contact with Joey Field at that point. Use Beam Eleven Teng to guide you to your landing spot.”

The voice paused, then said: “Be advised we are a peaceful world, and are welcoming you.

“If, however, you have other intentions, also be advised you are being tracked by various weapons systems we do not want to use. Over.”

“This is
Big Bertha
,” Liskeard said into a mike. “We are just what we claim to be … understand Course Nan Eleven for two-two kilometers, use standard Beam Eleven Teng and visual flight regulations to land on field. Monitoring Channel five-five-four-point-eight-seven. Over.”

“Assuming you know what the name of your ship means,” the voice said, “welcome home. Grimaldi Control, clear.”

Njangu glanced at Garvin, swore that the other man had tears in his eyes. He wondered what would be a home to him, one day, wondered not for the first time if there was one. Sure as hell not the corrupt sewer of Ross 248 that he’d been born on.

“Sir,” Liskeard said, “we’re bringing it in. Do you want to do the benediction?”

Garvin jolted back to the bridge of the ship.

“Yeh. Yeh, sorry.” He took a microphone.

“This is Gaffer Jaansma.” He’d decided to start using the title before they entered the Grimaldi system, figuring it was time to get the troops used to it.

“From here on out, all of you who aren’t civilians are now. For the love of Harriet’s Crucifixion, don’t go around in step or counting cadence.

“You’ve all been briefed on who we are … more or less amateur circus buffs who’ve fallen into money, and are trying to give peace a chance by making people happy and laughing, and maybe are curious about whatever happened to the Confederation.

“You don’t have to look moronic when you say that. The people we’ll encounter will already think you’re a skid short of an even landing for looking for what is obviously big trouble.

“From here on out, things should get interesting.”

He keyed the mike off and looked at Njangu, grinning broadly.

“
Damn
, but this is gonna be fun.”

• • •

Garvin might have been awash in sentiment, but that didn’t make him altogether a fool. The two
aksai
followed within
Big Bertha
’s radar shadow until the behemoth landed, then orbited closely overhead. The Nana boats were ready for an instant launch, and certain unobtrusive compartments, normally kept sealed, were now open and their 35mm chainguns, firing depleted uranium rounds at 6000rpm, and the smallish one meter long Shrikes, which could be launched at anything and guided by anyone, were ready.

But nothing warlike happened, and so Garvin, and an assemblage of his more impressive people, from Ben Dill to Njangu to Monique Lir went down the wide gangway after the lock opened.

Waiting were a dozen or more lifters, some circus-colored, others nondescript, two loudly claiming the holo stations they had been dispatched by.

About forty men and women waited, most as excited as Garvin. They were also somewhat unusual in appearance, Lir noticed. Three had elaborate tattoos showing on their bare arms, one was almost as big as Ben Dill, another woman had a rather remarkable beard, and two, including one journoh with a holo recorder, were midgets.

One woman, distinguished-looking, very long-haired, wearing tanned, fringed leathers, came forward.

“We welcome
Big Bertha
,” she said formally. “I hope you will find what you’re seeking here on Grimaldi. I am Agar-Robertes, and people have given me the title of Gaffer, one of several on this world. That’s an ancient term that means — ”

“I know what it means,” Garvin said. “I’m Gaffer Jaansma.”

The woman lifted her eyebrows.

“Of
the
Jaansmas?”

“I am Garvin,” Garvin said. “My mother was Clyte, my father Frahnk, my uncle Hahrl. Before that — ”

“Stop,” the woman said. “You’ve been kicking sawdust longer than any of us.”

Garvin inclined his head.

“Son of a bitch,” Njangu managed sotto voce to Dill. “The bastard’s for real about this circus stuff!”

“That is quite a ship you own,” Agar-Robertes said looking up at the looming behemoth. “Might I ask your cargo?”

“We have little at present,” Garvin said. “Which is why we came to Grimaldi. We intend to build a circus, and seek women, men, nonhumans, animals.”

“Then the time has come round again,” Agar-Robertes said reverently amid a babble from the other men and women of Grimaldi. “When it is safe for circuses, it is safe for all.”

Garvin made a face.

“I wish I could say you’re right. We’ve had encounters since we left our native worlds to suggest the time is not here, not yet.”

“Still,” Agar-Robertes said. “It might be a beginning.

“And you won’t lack for prospective troupers. We’re so stricken we’ve gone beyond entertaining each other.” She lowered her voice. “Some of us have even been forced to take flatty
jobs
!”

• • •

The people of Grimaldi took the Cumbrians to their hearts and homes. The
Big Bertha
was given a parking slot on a corner of the field, the
aksai
and other ships moved into revetments for maintenance, and the circus itself sprawled out around the ship.

The tent was set up, the midway a long fat finger in front of the main tent, and the other “tents” — the mess tent, the clown tent, all actually prefab shelters — around it.

Some of the crew and troupers decided they could do without living aboard unless they had to, and made arrangements with the locals. Garvin didn’t care, as long as everyone was present for his work shift.

It would also be good, he knew, for the Cumbrians to experience another culture than the one they’d been born into … and the Grimaldians were a bit unusual.

Some of the population, including the original settlers, were circus workers, as many of them strong-backs, clerical, or computer sorts as freaks and performers. Others were retirees, vacationers who’d been trapped when the Confederation collapsed, circus fans or settlers who seemed to have chosen Grimaldi with a dart and a star chart.

All shared a common belief in individual freedom, although, as one put it, “Yer rights end at my nose.”

Seemingly incongruously, almost all desperately missed the Confederation. But one explained to Njangu, “It’s best to have some kind of law and order. Makes travel easier, and keeps you from getting mugged after you’ve run your con and are trying to get out of town with the snide.”

Njangu was starting to understand what Garvin had missed for so many years … but still hadn’t the foggiest why Jaansma was still with the military.

Nor why he was, either.

• • •

“What in the name of God’s holiest dildo is
that
?” Njangu asked suspiciously, staring at the huge pile of off-white heavy cloth, leather reinforcements, iron eyes, and heavy line.

“It’s a tent,” Garvin said. “A real tent.”

“Which you use for what?”

“We’re going to be the best damned circus ever … or, anyway, the best one still flitting around this galaxy,” Garvin said. “So, when we can, we’ll set up under canvas.”

“Why? We’ve got a perfectly good ship that unfolds like one of those paper sculptures … ory … eerie … you know. Sushimi. All safe and warm, and nice lanes to the cages and quarters.”

“Because nothing smells more like a circus than canvas,” Garvin said. “And roasting groundnuts and popcorn and … and elephant shit.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Jasith your favorite smells,” Njangu said. “It’ll thrill her no end and probably spark a new line of perfumes from the Mellusin empire.”

• • •

Not that Njangu was very successful in maintaining his own usual superciliousness.

Maev came around a corner, and found him buried in a mass of little people, some dwarves, most perfect scale replicas of “normal” humans.

They were shouting something about contract scale, and he was trying to argue, with a rather beatific look on his face.

Maev crept back round her corner and never mentioned it to Yoshitaro.

• • •

“We’ve got a serious problem,” Garvin said. “Siddown, have a drink, and help me out.”

“A better invite has seldom been spoke,” Njangu said, and sat down in front of Jaansma’s desk. He pulled the bottle over, poured into a glass, drank.

“Whoo. What’s that? Exhaust wash?”

“Close,” Garvin said. “Triple-run alcohol our fearless, peerless engine department came up with. Try another hit. It grows on you.”

“Yeh,” Njangu said. “Like fungus.” But he obeyed. “Now, what’s the problem?”

“Every circus has got to have a theme that everything sort of centers around, from the pretty women in the spec … that’s the spectacle, the pageant that opens things … to the blowoff. The costumes should be designed sorta around that theme.”

“Mmmh.” Njangu considered.

“It sort of helps if it’s kind of wallowy and sentimental.”

“Oh. Easy, then. Refill me,” Yoshitaro said.

Garvin obeyed.

“This shit does improve with usage,” Njangu admitted. “But I still think it’d be best injected, so your throat doesn’t have to take all the damage.

“You want a theme … you got a theme. Even fits in with our tippy-top secret mission. Call it, oh, Many Worlds Together.

“You can hit that ol’ tocsin of the Confederation and how we all miss it, put people in any kinda costume you want … even look to see if there’s ever been any nudist worlds … and go from there.”

“Why Njangu Yoshitaro,” Garvin said. “Sometimes I suspect you of genius. Intelligence, even.”

“Took you long enough.”

• • •

“Uh, boss, what’s going on?” Darod Montagna asked Njangu. They were outside
Big Bertha
, and a high, circular fence had been put up, using one of the ship’s fins for a base. Inside the fence were Garvin and Ben Dill.

“Our fearless leader is about to negotiate for a bear.”

“A what?”

“Some kind of ancient animal … supposedly goes all the way back to Earth,” Njangu said. “I looked the creature up, and it was listed as a fine animal who left everybody alone, but if you messed with it, it messed back on an all-out basis. Garvin thinks he’s got to have one.”

“Why? What do they do? Or is eating people going to be a sideshow?”

“If they’re well trained, Garvin told me,” Njangu explained, “a bear will ride two-wheelers, dance, do a little tumbling … just about anything a rather stupid man can be taught.”

“Why do we need one?”

“Because,” Njangu said, “ a circus just …”

And Montagna finished the now shopworn phrase:

“ … isn’t a circus without a bear. Or a bunch of tumblers. Or whatever else the gaffer comes up with.”

“So, anyway,” Njangu went on, “it turns out there’s this nuthead back in the hills who raises real bears. Agar-Robertes suggested we buy a couple of robot bears, but not our Garvin. He’s gotta have the real thing.

“Look. This has got to be the bear-breeder.”

The lifter wandering toward the field looked as if it had been crashed on a weekly basis for some time. In the open back was a large cage, holding a very large, very dark brown, furry animal with very large claws and teeth.

“Yeets,” Darod said. “Scares me just looking at him. Anybody bring a blaster?”

“Garvin said the trainer told him the bear was as gentle as a baby.”

The animal in the back roared so loudly the cage bars rattled.

“What kind of baby?” she wondered aloud.

“Nobody said.”

The lifter grounded, and a rather hairy man got out. He greeted Garvin, introduced himself as Eneas, and limped to the back of the cage.

“This ‘ere’s Li’l Doni,” he said. “Cutest li’l thing I ever did see. Got two more back t’ th’ ranch just like her, if you want real star power.”

Njangu was holding back a snicker.

“Star power?” he muttered.

“You said she was gentle,” Garvin said, eyeing a ragged scar down the trainer’s arm.

“ ‘At was her mother’s doin’,” Eneas said. “On’y thing Doni’s ever did t’ me was break m’ leg, an’ that was my fault. Mostly.

“Here. Lemme let ‘er out, you c’n see for yourself.”

Garvin was seeing for himself that Li’l Doni was not only in a cage, but had chains around her upper legs. Eneas opened the cage, and Doni rolled out, snarling, came to her feet, and snapped both chains.

She growled, took a swipe at Eneas, who sensibly dived under the lifter.

Doni saw Ben Dill, and charged after him. Dill followed Eneas. That left Garvin, and Doni went for him. There wasn’t room enough under the lift for three, and so Garvin climbed, later swearing he levitated, to the top of the cage.

Doni, in command of the theater, snarled three times around the lift, considered a side window, and smashed it casually.

Njangu was laughing so hard he had to hold himself up against the ship’s fin.

Li’l Doni spotted Yoshitaro, and, roaring rampage, charged the fence. She banged off it once, then went up and over it as if it was a ladder.

Njangu Yoshitaro went up
Big Bertha’s
fin as if it also were a ladder.

Darod Montagna found business back inside the ship, closing the lock behind her.

Eventually Eneas came out from under his lift, found more chains, and Li’l Doni vanished from the circus’s life.

Three days later, Njangu invoiced for the lease of two robot bears. He insisted on naming one of them Li’l Doni.

• • •

The music conductor was named Raf Aterton, and Njangu swore he had to be the reincarnation of at least six generals and two dictators. He was silver-haired, slender, severe in countenance, and brooked no argument from any of the forty musicians the circus had taken on. His voice sounded soft, but somehow carried from one end of the spaceport to the other.